Memory
by sunday showers
Summary: After the loss of his family and friends, Danny finds an odd friendship in an enemy.


Movement doesn't come easily. I can barely pull myself from bed, let alone walk the steps that lead down into the dining area. My body feels weightless, just how I like it, but in feeling so empty, sometimes I'm not even sure if I'm alive. My heartbeat is faint. Light _thump-thumps _that echo in my chest, my head. 'That's your heartbeat Danny,' I remind myself, steading my weight against the long railing of the staircase. My thoughts float between consciousness, and memory as I descend the stairs, one foot in front of the other. At one point I hear my mother. She calls my name, says breakfast is ready, only to be interrupted by the ongoing rumble of my father. I chuckle to myself, wanting to speak to the illusions that only I can see.

Then I feel it. The warmth against my cheek. The hand in my hand. I see her black bob from the side of my glance, and I want to turn. I want to grasp her around the shoulders and pull her close. I want to hear her voice, grumpy, but with an underlying smiling and smell the scent of her. "Sam," I breathe. My hand wobbles against the banister, and I feel myself growing weaker. An invisible weight carries in my shoulders and my body collapses on itself until I'm falling down the stairs and seeing nothing but black.

There's a hand against my forehead. It's warm, and comforting, moving against the bruise in light circular motions.

_It's okay Danny, _my head says, echoing the voice of my mother, _I'm here. I'm always here for you. _

A combination of light and consciousness forces itself beneath my eyelids, pulling them up like curtains. I blink, once, twice, each time becoming a little clearer then the last.

"W-who?" I murmur, "H-huh?" A sense, old and long forgotten- from the days of fighting ghosts, warns me to move. It's nervous, shaking with anxiety inside of me. But since _that_ day, the one I've lost everything, I've lost all sense, all emotion. What is fear? What is anxiety?

I snort, and lay my head back into the pillow.

"Are you feeling better Daniel?"

Vlad. Of course. I was in enemy's comforting arms. His hands, hard and rather large for a man his size, move over my forehead again, pushing at my bruises, and passing an icepack over the larger ones (several spots hurt, so I'm guessing there's more than one.) "You took quite a spill," he adds, not waiting for my answer. I nod though the movement hurts. From the corner of my eye, I can see him unwrapping a line of gauze around two long fingers.

"Is it bleeding?" I ask.

He shakes his head, "To hold the ice pack. I can't sit with you forever." A smile. It's rare and warm, like his hands. My eyes move away at the kindness finding a rather interesting spot on the floor to focus on instead.

"Were you _thinking _again Daniel?" he asks after a moment.

"Depends what you mean by thinking."

"About _them_."

A sigh escapes from my pressed lips. My teeth are clenched so hard I wouldn't be surprised if they cracked from the pressure. Vlad's looking at me, watching my face, my reaction; I can feel his eyes on me.

"When did you get like this?" I return, deciding to answer his question with a question.

"Whatever are you talking about?"

I twirl a finger in the air hoping to illustrate his insanity, "You know, not so fruit-loopy?"

"Interesting vocabulary," he huffs from beside me. I turn to face him and laugh, but it comes out choked. His expression is light, but his eyes are worn, with purple beneath them. Long eyelids sag over hazy pupils, and his grey hair is in disarray, poking every which way. A little knot of guilt settles in my stomach.

"Did I frighten you?"

The small smile disappears from pale lips, and he whispers, "You worry me."

"But why?" I struggle to lift my head from the pillow. It feels heavy and full, but I fight against the need to lie back down. Vlad's arms are already outstretched, ready to catch me, if I should keel over right then. I give a cocky grin and say, "Aren't we supposed to be enemies?" My tongue pokes between my teeth for good measure.

Vlad bites his lips and shakes his head. This is a Vlad I've never seen before and I don't what category to place him under, as before he'd been an enemy and a fruit-loop. Still, I try my best to stay upright and continue to smile for both of our sakes. There's a part of me that says to shoot his butt right then and there, but I don't. Not because I can't, but because I shouldn't.

I have no one now. And neither does he.

We could make this work. If we tried.

The feeling in my head has become overwhelming. A groan slips from me, and I do my best to dig my palms into the plush of the couch, but I'm already sliding forward. The bleakness surrounds me, and everything becomes blurry. Vlad's voice calls to me, but his words are a scramble. I fall forward, and descend back into the darkness.


End file.
